The Intersect with Two Names
by daywalkr82
Summary: Chuck goes undercover as the world's most famous spy. This is only meant to inspire better writers than myself to write this story, so if anyone wants to, please feel free. Rated for alcohol references.


**A/N: I don't own any of the characters, scenes, or songs in here. This is part homage to my favorite spy movie series and favorite installment of that movie series, and part idea I had to combine said series with my favorite TV spy series. I haven't been monetarily recompensed for this; I do it because I enjoy the entertainment offered by those involved on both sides.**

The valet thought he'd seen everything at this job, but his latest "acquisition" was just too much to be believed. When the smartly dressed gentleman had emerged from the BMW 750i, the valet had unmistakably heard a female voice coming from the car, even though the gentleman was clearly alone. "Don't let her push you around," he had said in perfect German, which the valet had thought odd, as the gentleman looked American. 'At least the man tipped well,' he thought, the 100M note safely stowed in his secret pocket on the inner fold of his uniform trousers.

Inside the ballroom, the gentleman noted the song currently playing as he made his way through the room. "It Had to Be You" had always been one of his favorites, and it seemed to fit the moment, since he had just spotted someone he had not seen in a very long time. He casually approached the woman in red, noting again how stunning she looked. 'She did always love the classics,' he thought as he steeled himself for the moment.

"I always wondered what would happen, if I ever saw you again," he said coolly with just a little remorse. The woman in red froze for a moment before turning around. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then, she slapped him like he was fresh from the womb, her curtain of blond hair flowing over her shoulder as she followed her momentum to a second slap. The gentleman turned back to her. "Now, I know." She exhaled with finality, as though she'd just proved a point beyond all reproach. "Was it something I said?" he asked with that same annoying confidence.

"How about the words, "see you in a few months'?" she said, cold fire still shining in her azure eyes.

"Something came up," he said emotionlessly as he called a server over.

"How may I help, Sir?"

"The lady will have a Lowland Single Malt whisky," the gentleman said, of which the woman in red approved. She was actually surprised he remembered after so long.

"The gentleman will have a glass of Johnnie Walker Black," she said, returning the dare.

"No, the gentleman will have a martini, three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet, shake it over ice, and add a thin slice of lemon peel. Thanks very much."

The server walked away after a moment, having had to write down the gentleman's order so he could remember. "You've gotten oddly specific with your drinks, haven't you?" she said snarkily.

"I just know what I like," he said simply as he moved to the railing overlooking the party.

"There was a time when that included me," she said as she followed him. He looked at her for a moment, his sad chocolate orbs meeting her wistful sapphires.

"It's not like I meant to keep you in the dark, you know. Deep cover assignments don't leave a lot of time for explanations to loved ones, as I'm sure you well know," he responded, dropping his British accent in favor of a neutered American dialect.

"But three years? Three years, and you don't have time to pick up a phone, send an email or even a goddamn letter? Just what do they have you doing at MI6?" the woman asked heatedly, color rising in her neck to match her dress.

"You know I can't talk about that," he said in a tone that brooked no argument as the waiter reappeared. "Thanks very much again," he said in his British accent, taking his drink and offering the lady hers. "To reconnecting," he offered. She toasted him and took a swig of her whisky just as another gentleman made his way over to them.

"There you are, Jess. I've been all over this place looking for you." He moved in and kissed her cheek, giving the other gentleman time to hide the kneejerk reaction of the flash. 'Well-built, 220 lbs, knows how to handle himself, even without the Walther in the shoulder holster,' he noted, leaving the rest of the information to be sorted through later. "And I don't believe I know your friend, honey." The large gentleman offered a hand in fellowship. "Charles Hammer, but I insist you call me Chuck. All my friends do, and and any friend of Jess's is a friend of mine, Mr. …"

"Bond," the gentleman said as he took the proffered hand, "James Bond."


End file.
